Anthony's Weakness
by SA3466996
Summary: Tag to S6 E12 ‘Caged’ and lead into S6 E13 ‘Broken Bird’. Tony’s hurt by a flippant remark that Gibbs made. He's doing some thinking. Warning: later chapter contains hints of Tony's past and references to the physical abuse of a child. Spoilers for S6.
1. Disappointment

**Anthony's Weakness**

A/N – Tag to S6 E12 'Caged' and lead into S6 E13 'Broken Bird'. Tony's thinking about the flippant remark Gibbs made to him in the squad room. He's thinking about a lot of things. **Warning:** later chapter contains hints of Tony's past and references to the physical abuse of a child. References to S6 episodes 'Broken Bird', 'Caged', 'Murder 2.0' and 'Silent Night', S5 episode 'Internal Affairs', S4 episodes 'Grace Period', 'Friends and Lovers' and S2 episode 'Twilight'. NCIS characters belong to Bellisario, CBS and Paramount.

I'm working on the premise here that the two men are trying to learn how to work with one another again following Tony's return from the Sea Hawk. The relationship between the two of them has changed slightly and neither seems to know how to handle it. I have assumed Tony knows about the 'narcissistic' and 'attitude adjustment' comments in S6 episodes 'Murder 2.0' and 'Silent Night'.

Tony's a bit moody and dark in this but I think it reflects how he seems to have changed somewhat in the sixth season. He does revert later on though.

* * *

**Chapter 1 – Disappointment**

'_People can be loved as much for their weaknesses as they are for their strengths'_

He'd been teasing McGee. They both had. Ziva was part of it too. Gibbs had walked in half way through the conversation, having heard all of it as usual, but the comment his boss had made was directed solely at him.

'_Well then DiNozzo, you must be one very well loved man'_

The words stung. Tony took a sip from his mug and set it carefully down on the small coffee table beside the sofa where he sat. He ran his hands through his hair and down the back of his neck working the cricks out before leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees and lacing his fingers together. He stared at the floor of his apartment.

He wished he hadn't teased McGee. Poor Tim had almost lost a finger, almost had his throat slit and almost... no they _did_ actually 'pepper' spray him, and they _did_ cuff him. Tim had been handcuffed by women... lots of women... in a women's prison...

_Anthony... stop it! _He cuffed himself on the back of the head. _That's another weakness Gibbs will take great pleasure in pointing out to you... again... sometime in the near future_. He couldn't afford another weakness. Not right now. He rubbed the sting out of the back of his head and smoothed his ruffled hair.

'_Thank you for noticing boss'_

Gibbs noticed all _his_ weaknesses... he noticed all _their_ weaknesses too but he noticed _his_ especially. And lately, Gibbs hadn't been holding back in his digs. They may well have been jokes but they were becoming increasingly personal.

He wasn't sure whether Gibbs knew that he knew. He thought he probably did, but that somehow made it worse. The real problem was that Gibbs wasn't being as direct any more. He used to be.

In the past, if Tony had screwed up, he knew about it. If Gibbs had had a problem with something he'd done, he'd made it perfectly clear. But recently Gibbs had been talking behind his back, and not in a nice way. He didn't mind that. How could he mind it? Tony talked about other people behind their backs all the time. _You can't complain when you get a taste of your own medicine, Anthony._

It was more the fact that he'd always trusted Gibbs to tell him, directly, when he'd had a problem with him. He had... past tense... trusted Gibbs to tell him, directly, when he'd had a problem with him. But Gibbs hadn't said a word to him... directly... about any of it... and that was bringing forth a variety of emotions that Tony really didn't want to deal with. He didn't know how to.

First there had been the narcissistic comment... then his attitude needed adjusting and now he had so many weakness it would take the boss's other favourite... McHewhoneverscrewsup_... _a billion computers and a millennium to sort categorise and file them all.

_Shit, Anthony... give the poor guy a break. It's not Tim's fault._

No. Tim wasn't to blame for what Gibbs thought or said about him. Tim was an innocent bystander in this little power play. The only person he could blame was the person who was at fault... himself.

Anthony D. DiNozzo.

At least Gibbs had said that last one to him. Actually, he didn't really mind the last one. He had weaknesses, everyone had weaknesses. He just... didn't like showing them. _Suppose it comes from..._

Tony swallowed and groped at the coffee table for his mug of tea. Finding it, he carefully raised the mug to his lips and took a sip, immediately spitting the liquid back out into the vessel.

"Urgh... cold tea", he grimaced placing the mug back on the coffee table.

Tony eased himself up from the sofa, unconsciously wrapping his arms around himself in a comforting hold and walked slowly towards the window. His apartment was in darkness but the blinds were open and the orange glow of the street lights spilled into his front room giving just enough illumination to allow him to see where to place his bare feet.

He stood to one side of the window and stared through the glass panes at the street below.

Taxi cabs sped through the street carrying their unknown occupants to and from their unknown destinations. A jogger ran on the opposite side of the street, crossed at the lights and then narrowly missed being caught up in a dog lead before continuing on with his punishing schedule. Tony followed the path of the young couple who were walking their dog until he could no longer see them.

Why were things so screwed up? He'd been trying so hard but it never turned out right. He always made the wrong comment at the wrong time, tried to lighten the mood when the mood didn't need to be lightened, teased McGee before McGee could tease him and Gibbs always appeared at the wrong moment. Even when he'd done something right, for once, whatever he did didn't seem to make any difference to the way Gibbs looked at him now.

He saw it everywhere. He felt it too. It was in his eyes... disappointment.

It heard it in his voice... the way Gibbs sighed when he said his name...

'_DiNozzo'... sigh._

_Sigh... 'DiNozzo'_

'_Tony'... sigh. _

_Sigh... 'Tony'_

The only other person that had seemed to acknowledge what Gibbs was doing was Ziva. She noticed a lot... definitely more than she let on. He knew that. He wondered whether McGee had noticed. Maybe he had... but he didn't acknowledge it.

Tony caught the outline of his reflection in the glass pane. He studied the image staring back at him. There were a few more lines on his face than when he'd first looked through his apartment window several years ago and caught his reflection in the stillness of the night. He still looked pretty good though. He chuckled and leaned his left shoulder against the wall, lowering his gaze to look at his feet. They'd done a lot of running over the years.

He turned, leaning back against the wall and inhaled deeply as he felt the warmth drain from his back and the cool temperature beneath him seep through his t-shirt and spread across his shoulder blades. He pressed back into the wall and slowly lifted his head to look back into his darkened apartment. It was late. There was no TV tonight, no Sinatra or Coltrane playing in the background, the ansaphone was on silent and the cell, tucked in his jeans pocket, was switched to vibrate. He wasn't on call. There was no reason for... and neither did he expect... his boss to call him. _Damn you Gibbs!_ Even after seven years, he still observed rule number 3.

_Well not tonight. _

He reached into his pocket and brought out the cell. He flipped it open, the bright display illuminating the immediate area around him, and he pressed the red button. A flash of colour later and the brightness was gone.

Immediately, the unease started to build inside him and a tight band of fear gripped his stomach. He forced himself to remain calm. He was _not_ going to turn his cell back on.

The fear began to recede and Tony let out a sigh. Finally, he was alone in his darkened apartment. Only the hypnotic ticking of the clock in the corner prevented silence. _Twenty three hundred hours._

'_Tick'_

'_Tock'_

'_Tick'_

'_Tock'_

The call... and the response.

'_Tick'_

The call.

'_Tock'_

The response.

It was always there.

'_Tick'_

Well it had been since he'd swapped the batteries for the ones he found in his old DVD remote the other week. The clock had started again when he replaced them but he didn't know how long the new... or rather... old batteries would last.

'_Tock'_

They were bound to fail soon enough. He ought to get some new batteries from the store. He could keep them on standby in case the Clock's _Tick_ became so out of synch with its _Tock_ that it was unable to carry out its function of capturing the correct time... or worse still, stopped altogether. He didn't even want to think about that. He hadn't a clue what he'd do if it stopped completely and he couldn't get the clock started again.

'_Tick'_

'_Tock'_

'_Tick'_

There was a slight hesitation.

'_Tock'_

He really needed to change the batteries in the clock and he needed to do it soon.

Perhaps he _should_ be more direct with Gibbs. Confront him. Pull _him_ up on some of the things he said or did. That had seemed to work a couple of weeks ago. Gibbs hadn't apologised... hell would freeze over before anything remotely like an apology was uttered from those thin lips of his... but Tony's wrath had, sort of, cleared the air for a short while, restoring the 'Tick' and the 'Tock' to a more productive synchronism. But the batteries were beginning to fail again.

Maybe he shouldn't really _confront_ him, not yet, not so soon after the last time. Maybe he should just try and talk to him. Tony laughed and shook his head. _Talk to Gibbs._

In the past, their connection had been unspoken. They didn't need to talk; a facial expression, the raise of an eyebrow, the way his eyes conveyed a variety of emotions... he'd learnt to understand them and knew how to react to them.

Lately Tony felt lucky if Gibbs actually looked at him... even if it _was_ to show him the disappointment in those blue eyes of his. He had a hard job talking to Gibbs about a case without noticing how Gibbs tended to avoid looking directly at him... and when Gibbs spoke, the words may have been for his ears but they never seemed to be sent in his direction. How the hell would he be able to get Gibbs to talk to him about something personal, which this obviously was? Gibbs didn't really _do_ personal... but then neither did he.

"Weaknesses, eh boss", Tony calmly stated to an imaginary Gibbs. _Everyone has them... even you._

'_Well then DiNozzo, you must be one very well loved man'_

How the hell did Gibbs do that? He wasn't even here and he was responding to his thoughts now. That man had the stealth capability of his neighbour's cat. Damn thing was always hovering somewhere near his front door or on the stairs, ready to bat his ankles with its paw or move swiftly into his path and trip him up. He never saw it coming either. That was another of his weaknesses he supposed.

Some people had more weaknesses than others. He...Tony... definitely had more than others.

Perhaps he should make a list. Write them all down... he could show it to Gibbs in the morning. Gibbs could tick them all off and then... probably add fifty or so more.

_What are you thinking Anthony? Do you really want Gibbs to make you feel even more pathetic, inadequate and guilty than you already do now? Strike that idea out of your head right now._

_Maybe not._

If he did write a list of all his failings; all his weaknesses, well... they could hardly call him narcissistic could they. In that split second he'd decided.

With a renewed energy, Tony pushed away from the wall and headed for the kitchen, making a brief pit stop at the coffee table to swap his cell for his mug of stone cold tea as he went. He stabbed at the switch to the right of the door and the kitchen burst into view. Squinting at the burning intensity of the light, he flicked the kettle on and then flicked it off, the strained hissing sound it released indicating the vital missing ingredient usually required when boiling a kettle. He set the mug down on the counter and opted to fill the kettle first. Placing the kettle back on its stand he flicked the switch again. Better.

As he poured the cold tea down the sink and slowly washed out the mug he couldn't help but laugh. If he was going to list all his weaknesses, and be honest about it, it was going to be a long night. Maybe it was time to break out the coffee.

Maybe not.

He reached for the tea bags.

TBC...

* * *

A/N – With respect to the Pepper spray line - I have no idea what she used. It could have been hairspray, deodorant spray, toilet freshener. It's difficult to see on a 4x3 screen sometimes. Sorry... I went for generic.

The SA3s in this follow a short story and they are a bit long. SA3' seems to have gone a little more season 6 SA3' instead of season 2/3 SA3' – well he does in the later ones anyway. A couple of new characters join in later too.

_McColleague watched SA3466996 out of the corner of his eye... he was restless, he'd been on edge all day and he was driving McColleague mad. The boss made a move, obviously in the direction of the head. As soon as he was gone McColleague felt a sharp sting on his left temple and saw the cause of it, a small paper ball land on the keyboard in front of him. McColleague sighed and picked up the offensive weapon._

"_Hey, McColl", SA3466996 whispered._

"_Why are you whispering SA3'?" McColleague replied. "He's not here, you know"_

"_I know". SA3466996 continued to whisper, "But...you know... very sensitive hearing... the boss"_

"_What do you want SA3'?" McColleague was getting impatient._

"_Can I swap on call duty with you? I'll take your Saturday if you take tonight?"_

_McColleague pondered for a minute, gently tossing the paper ball from hand to hand. That wasn't a bad swap. Weekend for a weeknight... and it meant he could go and watch Ally and the nuns bowling on Saturday... maybe take her to that new bar afterwards. There had to be a catch._

"_Why and who else is on call tonight?" he asked._

"_An old boss and Zita", SA3466996 replied. _

_SA3466996 certainly sounded sincere and those pleading puppy dog eyes were in full force. "Sure, SA3'", he offered as SA3466996 quickly turned back to his monitor. "I'll do tonight for you", he said taking aim and then throwing the paper ball at SA3's head._

_Zita, who had be observing the proceedings with interest, chuckled at the duel cries of "Ow!" as both McColleague's paper ball and the boss's hand hit their respective marks. _

"_McColleague, SA3'... work... or you'll both be on call tonight 'and' Saturday."_

"_Yes boss", McColleague and SA3' replied in stereo._

_TBC..._


	2. Tony vs Anthony

**Anthony's Weakness**

A/N - Warning – this chapter contains references to physical abuse of a minor.

* * *

**Chapter 2 –Tony vs Anthony**

He'd grabbed his A4 notepad and pen and was sat on the sofa. The front room of his apartment was flooded with light. The blinds were closed and Sinatra was on continuous repeat in the background. He'd had a slightly awkward conversation with his neighbour, Steve, around 02:00. Steve had explained in no uncertain terms where a certain CD might end up if he didn't turn the music down immediately and let them get some sleep. Tony had been about to say that his favourite Sinatra was on LP anyway and that it didn't matter about the CD, when he thought better of it. He'd apologised, made an excuse about losing track of time and had turned the music down. _My ears only_ he'd silently chastised.

He'd been at it for over five hours. He'd long since finished his tea and was on to the coffee now. It found it was giving him _some_ inspiration. He'd been trying to think about how people saw him, Tony DiNozzo. What they thought his weaknesses and failings really were. What they thought of him. It was harder than he'd first thought.

He knew what his weaknesses were. He knew what his failings were. He'd been honest... he was, perhaps the only person he could truly be honest with, and it had been a painful exercise.

But he wasn't confident that what his team mates and, particularly, his boss _really_ thought his weaknesses were... actually were the same as what _he_ thought his team mates and boss thought his weaknesses were.

He was usually quite good at reading people. He was an expert at deception, at throwing people off the scent, giving them just enough, allowing them to think they understood him. He knew all the tricks... he'd been doing it for years... which was why he was so good at reading other people.

But not now... this time... right now... if he asked Abby to run his thoughts on Tony DiNozzo's weaknesses through AWIS, the 'weaknesses' equivalent of AFIS, he didn't think it'd match what the team and his boss had been storing in there for the past seven years.

The problem was that he was two people. He'd been _undercover_ since he was ten years old. Granted, he hadn't been very good when he first started, but he'd learned fast. He'd had to. The Tony DiNozzo he'd created, aged ten, and carefully crafted over the past quarter of a century, had served him well... up until about two years ago. Since then he'd been finding it increasingly difficult to keep up his act... at least to those he cared about... and to those who cared about him... or those he thought cared about him.

A lot had happened in the past two years, some things he'd been proud of, other things he wished would stop haunting his dreams. He'd loved and he'd lost; he'd saved and he'd killed; he'd been fearless and he'd been scared; he was lonely.

'_Regrets, I've had a few'_

"Oh puh-lease... not 'My Way'... again", Tony sighed.

He'd had his fill of old blue eyes. He'd had enough of regrets, times when he'd bitten off more than he could chew, ate it up, spat it out, faced it, stood tall, found it all amusing, taken the blows and done it 'his' way.

Tony placed his notepad and pen on the empty section of the sofa next to him and stood up. He crossed the floor to his CD player, removed the Sinatra CD, carefully put it back in its case and back into its reserved place in his CD collection. He skimmed the spines of the other CDs hoping for some kind of sign as to what he should play, on continuous repeat, next.

There was Fats Waller, Ain't Misbehavin'; Dinah Washington, Call me irresponsible; Nat King Cole, Let's face the music and dance; Duke Ellington, Take the 'A' train; Ella Fitzgerald, Every time we say goodbye; Tony Bennett, Chicago; Billy Eckstine, Passing Strangers.

Tony smiled as the Billy Taylor trio CD silently screamed 'play me now Anthony'. He plucked the CD from his collection and loaded it into the player.

He adjusted the sound level, careful to avoid the wrath of Steve. He really didn't want to wake him, Julie or their little brat even if they didn't seem to care when their screaming tot kept him awake all night.

The melodic tune of 'I wish I knew how it would feel to be free' filled the front room of his apartment and Tony smiled. _Appropriate timing,_ he thought.

The first time he'd heard that tune he'd been watching TV in his father's suite at the Dorchester in London. A business venture had sent his father to the UK and his mother had died not long before so he'd had to go with him. It had been the signature tune to one of the endless television programmes he'd watched late at night in his room in the suite. Some guy, Norman something... had been talking about films and he'd been transfixed by it. His father had warned him about staying up late but he hadn't listened. The jet lag had played havoc with him. He'd been tired when he was supposed to have been wide awake and wide awake when he was supposed to have been tired. He couldn't help it if he was wide awake and bored at 11 O'clock in the evening. He'd yawned most of the next morning but it was whilst they were eating breakfast together that his inability to concentrate had become apparent and ultimately led to his downfall.

"_Dad..." he yawned, "Can I go see a film... while we're here... in London?"_

"_I'm sorry Anthony, we won't have time", DiNozzo Sr. replied, not looking up from his Newspaper._

"_But..."_

"_No buts Anthony", DiNozzo Sr. stated firmly. _

_Anthony watched his father turn the pages of 'The Times' newspaper looking for the business section. His father always read the business section of any paper when he was away. Sometimes he'd make him read it to him. He hated it. It was boring and he didn't really understand it. He yawned and carried on eating his cereal. The rustle of a paper being put down on the table caused his head to snap back up._

"_Why do you want to go and see a film anyway?" DiNozzo Sr. asked, "There are more than enough channels for you to watch on the television, here, and I'm sure there will be a film on at least one of them"._

"_Well..." he yawned, stirring the cornflakes around and around in circles in his bowl, "...it was just that I was watching this programme about films last night and..."_

"_Last night?"_

_Oops... caught. He stopped stirring his cornflakes and hastily back tracked._

"_I think it was the afternoon...yeah it was definitely yesterday afternoon Dad... because you said I wasn't allowed to..."_

"_Oh... so you 'do' remember what I said to you then?"_

"_Y-yes Sir", he replied, lifting his head slowly, looking for signs that his father wasn't too mad with him. _

"_And what 'did' I say?"_

_Anthony could hear the anger beginning to build in his father's voice and he swallowed hard. "No TV after eight thirty", he said, looking at his cornflakes._

"_And what time did you watch television until last night, Anthony?"_

"_Half past eleven." _

"_Which is...?"_

"_After eight thirty."_

"_So why did you watch television after eight thirty when I expressly told you not to?"_

"_I thought you were talking about US time not London time, there's a diff..." _

_The hard slap across his face shocked him into silence._

"_Anthony DiNozzo... I give you a 'simple' instruction and you disobey me... and not only that... you then try and cover it up by lying to me. Go to your room... NOW!"_

_Anthony scraped the chair back from the breakfast table and skulked off towards his room in the suite. His father was mad and that was not good news but he, Anthony, was angry too. He slammed the door, to his room in the suite, as hard as he could._

_He heard a loud sigh, the rustling sound of a paper being put down and the scrape of a chair from the breakfast table. He heard the heavy footsteps pacing towards his room. He froze as the door handle began to turn and the door began to open..._

Piano solo... his favourite part... he could play it too. He didn't have a piano in his apartment. There were times he wished he did. _Why are you holding your breath Anthony?_ Tony exhaled deeply. Playing the piano had been one of his strengths, and even though he hadn't played in a long while, he still found his fingers moved in perfect synchronism with the individual notes that when put together, made the melodic tune what was now sweeping through the front room of his apartment.

He wasn't supposed to be thinking about strengths. He spied the notepad he'd left on the sofa. _Finish this Anthony._

Picking up the pad and pen and settling back down on the sofa he glanced at his lists. He'd actually got two lists. A list of weaknesses he thought others would see in him and a list of weaknesses he saw in himself.

He scanned the two lists.

TBC...

* * *

A/N – I promise we'll get to see what Tony thinks of his weaknesses in the next chapter.

_McColleague was furious. SA3' had lied when he'd said Zita was working the evening call duty. The boss was in and he hadn't forgotten that paper ball incident from earlier. They hadn't taken any calls and the boss had had him working cold cases all evening. He was insisting that he double and triple check all the facts from each cold case. He'd waited until the boss had gone for coffee and then he picked up his handset and pressed speed dial for SA3'._

"_SA3'"_

"_You liar"_

"_McColl... is that you?"_

"_LIAR!" McColleague yelled down the handset at SA3'._

"_I didn't lie"_

_McColleague thought he heard a rustle and a woman's voice in the background somewhere near SA3'. "Zita! Is Zita there with you?"_

"_Hang on a min'..."_

_Strange noises emanated through the handset and then McColleague heard the clink of glasses knocking together and music. SA3' was in a bar._

"_...okay, you're on speaker, McColl"_

"_Hi McColl", Zita spoke. He could hear the hint of amusement in Zita's voice. _

'_They' were in a bar. "SA3 you... you bastard", McColleague fumed. "When I asked who else was on 'on call duty' tonight you said Zita. You said you couldn't do it because of an old boss"._

"_Oh, McColl, McColl..." SA3' chuckled, "the mark of a good agent is to check 'all' the facts before they act"_

"_You what!"_

"_What I actually said was 'an old boss' and 'Zita'", SA3 spoke dryly, "I can't help it if you misinterpreted the order of my answers and didn't follow up... didn't dot the 'i's... cross the 't's. Let this be a valuable lesson to you McColl..."_

_McColleague could sense the grin beginning to widen on SA3's face and he slammed the handset back down on its cradle with as much force as he could muster. SA3' was not going to get away with this._

_TBC..._


	3. Analysis

_"There is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task" - President Barack Obama, January 20, 2009_

**Anthony's Weakness**

* * *

**Chapter 3 – Analysis**

The heading stared back at him.

_**Tony's Weaknesses**_

This was hard.

_**What I think other people think of me/ my weaknesses:**_

Damn this was hard.

He looked at the first of his traits and weaknesses.

_**Annoying/ Irritating**_

_**Inconsiderate/ Selfish**_

Yep... he could annoy the hell out of McGee and he was often inconsiderate when it came to riding the hump in the van. Yeah... he tended to think about himself... a lot... but he'd had to. Not that that was an excuse. What was it his father used to say?

'_Excuses are like armpits... everybody has them and they stink'_

Yeah, his father usually followed that phrase with a back hand.

But he didn't _just_ think about himself. He thought a lot about other people too... even if he didn't show it or say it. He'd go to hell and back for his team mates... and his boss... already had.

_**Need to be noticed/ constantly seeking approval, attention and recognition**_

_**Constant need to please the boss**_

That just went without saying really. He knew it... they knew it... everyone knew it. He needed it to function in life. He hated being rejected. He hated that Gibbs was rejecting him now. He'd managed when he was on the carrier because he'd told himself that it wasn't his boss that had rejected him. Vance had rejected him. He'd needed to be sent away... needed to be punished... made an example of. His friends, team mates, boss... they'd all been wrenched away from him and he'd had to survive and deal with his guilt alone.

And, however much he'd hated it on the Reagan and the Sea Hawk... he knew he'd deserved it, and it _had _done him good... eventually. It had grounded him... made him think. He knew now, more than ever, what was important to him. He'd also come to accept that Jenny's death was not his fault, but still, he couldn't forgive himself for not listening to those nagging doubts he'd had in his head and he knew he probably never would.

But he'd been back... what... four months or so now... and he couldn't kid himself any longer. During those four months he'd questioned, probably twice as many times as he'd done during his first six months in the MCRT, whether Gibbs really did want him on his team. McGee was more than capable of holding his own; Ziva always had been, and there were plenty of other agents ready to step up to the mark. He didn't see where he fit in anymore. He wanted to fit in. He had to fit in.

He knew he had to show Gibbs he wasn't narcissistic. Acknowledging his own weaknesses was the first step in that... next step was to stop pretending. Tony laughed openly. He did need an attitude adjustment after all. Looking down the list, he paled slightly, at his next trait.

_**Immature/ childish/ silly**_

He could certainly be silly and childish... and immature. He didn't think he'd ever want to stop being silly, childish or immature. And although it had got him into trouble on more than a few occasions, he didn't care. He liked being silly. It was part of him. However, he was beginning to realise that he couldn't _always_ be silly... and he couldn't always offer himself up as a patsy. Even if he had a good reason for being silly and childish, there was definitely a right time and a right place. In front of the 'toothpick' was definitely not the right time, nor the right place.

_**Yes man**_

Yes boss. On it boss. Yes Sir. No Sir. It was hard to break the habit that had been drummed into him from the tender age of five.

"Oh Crap", he said to an empty room as he read the next couple of traits.

_**Show off/ always has to be the centre of attention/ has to be the best**_

_**Know it all**_

He was insecure; it was a way of dealing. _Be less insecure Anthony._ That was easier said than done.

_**Sexist**_

Maybe he wasn't quite as sexist as he used to be. He'd leave it on there anyway.

_**Blame others when it's my fault**_

He knew the others would think this. He may try, initially, to worm his way out of things, but he always owned up to his mistakes. Lately, though, he hadn't bothered trying to worm his way out of anything really. The guilt he felt over Jenny's death had put a stop to that.

Tony read down the list. He couldn't help the next one.

_**Jealous of other peoples success**_

Poor McGee. He had teased him mercilessly about Deep Six and Rock Hollow. The guy was a published author... he was famous... successful. He had fans... crazy, crazy fans. He was great with techno babble. He was a damn good agent too. He had friends. He was liked. Tony swallowed. McGee was liked by Gibbs. Vance liked him too. He had a family... a sister... parents who loved him... parents who never forgot him. God, how he envied McGee.

Tony ran a hand down the back of his head and cupped his neck. He sighed and looked up. He didn't want to carry on reading down the list. He closed his eyes briefly and swallowed. Opening his eyes, he forced himself to read further.

_**Talk a lot/ don't know when to shut up**_

_**Short attention span/ gets bored easily**_

'_Ya think, DiNozzo!' _Gibbs's voice rang out in his head. He'd been on the receiving end of many a slap to the back of the head... or across his face... for those weaknesses... weaknesses he'd picked up long ago.

_**Get people killed**_

Kate, John, Paula, Jenny... it was only a matter of time before it was someone else. _No more... please_.

_**Shallow**_

_Just another way of hiding, Anthony._ If people thought he was shallow they wouldn't dig deeper and then they, and he, wouldn't get hurt.

Maybe.

In the past he'd thought that was okay, but things had been different since Jeanne. He'd found he could let someone in... he could love someone and be loved. Even if it _had_ ended badly, he'd survived and so had she. He was profoundly sorry that he'd hurt her, and it had broken him to say the words that Jeanne had needed to hear that day... but he _had _said it, she _had_ moved on and so had he.

He couldn't go back there... hoping people wouldn't dig deeper. He needed to take the risk... he needed to let people in, although he'd taken a few steps back after Jenny's death. Being Special Agent Afloat hadn't helped much... although maybe that was a good thing. A lack of any type of relationship was probably wise back then. He didn't want to talk to strangers and strangers didn't want to talk to him, which was apt really as he certainly hadn't had many friends on the Reagan.

The Seahawk had been better; at least he'd developed a reasonable working relationship with the crew. On the Seahawk, he'd begun to heal and he'd come to realise what he wanted. Now he was back he wanted people to dig deeper, he wanted to let people get to know him... he just hoped it wasn't too late.

He took a slurp of coffee from the mug on the coffee table next to the sofa and immediately spat the liquid back into the mug.

"Urgh... cold coffee", he grimaced placing the mug back on the small table. He glanced in the direction of the kitchen debating whether to make another cup. He decided he wouldn't, opting instead to look at the second list he'd written. He read through the first couple of weaknesses.

_**What I think my weaknesses are:**_

_**What the others think plus the following:-**_

Well that was a given really.

_**I blame myself for things that are not my fault**_

_**I care and I pretend not to care**_

He felt responsible... guilty... and he _had_ blamed himself for Jenny's death, although he didn't believe it was his fault now. He also felt responsible for not preventing Kate's, Paula's and John's deaths. Kate had died instantly... Paula... he hoped she'd died instantly... but John... he'd died in his arms... and he hadn't been able to do anything about it. Everything had happened so fast but that didn't stop him _feeling_ responsible. He would keep running things over and over in his head. What if he hadn't helped Kate up? Could he have stopped Paula? If he'd been that little bit faster maybe John wouldn't have been shot. He'd tried every scenario he could think of but, ultimately, he knew there was nothing he could have done differently that would have prevented any of their deaths.

He still felt responsible.

Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing though. Did it make him a better person? A person who cared for those around him? Or did it make him weak... a person who was unable to let go of his guilt, who let it consume him until it affected his work, he lost focus and had to be sent away to sort himself out. He thought his next weakness said everything.

_**I don't ask for help **_

He didn't know how to ask? The few people who had helped him in the past had known exactly what he needed even when he didn't know himself. The family house keeper, Marcella; ex cop turned cabbie, Pete; his mentor, Gibbs... they had all known exactly what to do, say... not say without Tony even asking.

_**I assume too much and I over compensate**_

_**I'm afraid of being alone**_

Well, he was definitely afraid of being alone. He didn't want to be alone and that was why he tried so hard to get people to like him. The problem was that when he tried to get people to like him, he over did it, often reverting to the shallow, immature, joker that everyone had previously seemed to love and that he had, in the past, been so adept at hiding behind.

He didn't want to be that person. He wanted to be liked for who he really was... the person deep inside... the person he was becoming on the outside: the man who annoyingly approached life with child-like wonder and awe; the man who cared passionately for his friends, team mates and his boss; the man who was not prepared to hide anymore; the man who ached to love and to be loved; the man who had flaws like everyone else... the man who could be loved as much for his weaknesses as he was for his strengths.

He looked at the long list of failings on the note pad in front of him. It was a fair list. There were probably more. In fact there were definitely more, but he was done. He was finished. He was emotionally drained but he felt oddly free.

Tony smiled. Perhaps that had something to do with the music.

He tore off the sheet of paper, folded it and stuffed it in his pants pocket. It was 05:00. If he left now he could have it typed up before Gibbs got in. He didn't want to add "illegible hand writing" to the list.

He turned the CD player off before heading for the bedroom to find a clean pair of socks and his shoes. He grabbed his Sig from the bedside table, holstered it at his right side and then stuffed a suit from his wardrobe into his backpack. If he laid it out over the back of his chair at work, the creases would drop out... hopefully before Gibbs noticed... not that _he_ had anything to talk about.

Remembering he'd left his cell on the coffee table next to the sofa, he headed back through the apartment to retrieve it. He hesitated when he saw the notepad and pen lying next to the cell.

He could see the indentation marks on the blank top sheet, left by his heavy handwriting on the sheet he now had in his pocket. He stared, transfixed at the marks on the page. Then he dropped his backpack and sat down heavily on the sofa. There was one more list he needed to write. He picked up the notepad and pen and began to scribe.

_**Anthony's Weakness**_

He double underlined the heading.

As he stared at the heading he released a small laugh and then sighed as he quickly wrote one final word.

Tony stood up, ripping the sheet from the pad and placed it on the coffee table. He stuffed the A4 pad into his back pack and slung the bag over his shoulder. He picked up the cell from the coffee table and flipped the lid. Pressing the small green button he waited for the instruction to enter his security code. A few buttons later, the cell was operational.

He waited.

No voice mail. No messages.

He breathed a sigh of relief. _One less thing to worry about, Anthony._

He brushed past the coffee table, not noticing as the A4 sheet of paper slid slowly off the small table to land gently on the wooden floor boards of his apartment.

Tony headed out, flicking off the light switch as he went and grabbing his keys and coat from the hallway. He stepped out into the communal stairway and half-slammed the door.

He heard a baby start to cry in the apartment opposite. He grimaced.

_Oh Crap!_ Steve was really going to let him have it tonight.

He put the thoughts of having to apologise, yet again, to his neighbour to one side and headed for his car.

The draft produced when the front door slammed shut had just enough force to push the single sheet of paper further along the floor boards until it came to rest, safely hidden underneath the sofa in Tony's apartment.

TBC...

* * *

A/N – I ought to say that these are not exhaustive lists and I also think Tony believes he has a multitude of strengths too. I'm sure he could produce another two lists which show what he thinks other people think are his strengths and, what he thinks his strengths are.

_SA3' and McColl had been trading insults all morning. It had started as the usual banter but had developed and McColl was now giving back as good as he got, clearly unimpressed by SA3's misdirection the day before. He'd hoped for a quiet on call night but it had been anything but. He was tired and SA3's incessant drabble and wind ups were really 'winding' him up. It wasn't long before he snapped. It was just sheer luck that the boss had gone for coffee._

_He and Zita had been returning from escorting a witness out of the building and SA3' had passed them in the walkway and made a flippant remark about going to check whether McColl had actually escorted 'the witness' out of the building and not 'the cleaner'. McColl had had enough._

"_SA3', I swear if you don't quit with the wind ups I'll..." he yelled shoving SA3' against the wall._

"_You'll what...?" SA3' baited, dusting off his left shoulder. "Embarrass the hell out of me by wearing 'checked' pants to work... might help you remember to 'check' your facts McColl", SA3' grinned._

_McColl pushed him again._

"_Stop making it so easy McColl", SA3' pressed a little further._

_McColl was slowly losing it. "Easy...!" McColleague fumed, "I'll show you..."_

"_Hey!" the boss shouted angrily from further down the walkway. He'd been watching the argument between SA3466996 and McColleague unfold. In fact he'd been watching them bicker all morning and it was now beginning to interfere with their work. He walked straight up to the three agents and then glared at Zita, who had been silent throughout. She took the hint and walked away back to her desk. He turned his attention to the two agents who stood before him._

"_Boss, he..." McColleague started to protest._

"_Save it McColleague... it stops now", the boss snapped, glaring at each of them in turn. "SA3', lay off McColl. McColl, you should have checked your facts", he stated tersely, wiping the smile off SA3's face with a hard slap to the back of his head. "Now get back to work"._

_SA3' and McColl turned to walk back to their desks._

"_Not you SA3'"_

_TBC..._


	4. Feedback?

**Anthony's Weakness**

* * *

**Chapter 4 – Feedback?**

He'd made it in before Gibbs, managed to shave without anyone coming in to the washroom this time, changed into his suit and typed up his list. He was about to print off a copy when he noticed Geoff pushing the mail delivery cart in his direction.

"Very heavy package for Special Agent McGee", Geoff huffed. "Where do you want it Tony?"

"Just shove it over there", Tony smiled, pointing to Gibbs's desk.

"That's Special Agent Gibbs's desk, as well you know", Geoff said, folding his arms and raising his eyebrows at Tony.

"You got me", he grinned raising his hands in the air. "Ah... just stick it over there", Tony sighed and nodded his head in the direction of McGee's desk.

Geoff deposited the large, heavy box on McGee's desk and then started to push the delivery cart out of the squad room, narrowly missing Gibbs as he exited the elevator. Luckily the coffee survived.

"Morning boss", Tony offered as Gibbs strode past him and headed straight for his desk.

"Hhm"

He waited until Gibbs had taken in a large measure of coffee from the Styrofoam cup and had placed his jacket on top of the files by the side of his desk. _It was now or never,_ he thought.

"Boss"

Gibbs sighed. "What DiNozzo?"

That sigh was there again and he wondered whether he really ought to be doing this right now. _Do it Anthony_.

"Can I have a word?" he asked, looking directly at Gibbs.

"Fired... how about that one?"

He stared, his mouth slightly ajar, as the words smacked him in the face. There was no one else in the squad room. No need to put on a show. No need to hide. It was just the two of them... Gibbs and him. He knew it was a joke but his eyes drifted downwards and he closed his mouth. Half-heartedly attempting a fake laugh, Tony turned back to face his monitor. He knew Gibbs wouldn't buy it. He didn't know why he'd even tried to cover his hurt up.

"Never mind, it's not important"

"Tony", Gibbs sighed and picked up his coffee, "I have the Director in..." Gibbs checked his watch, "less than 30 seconds... it'll have to wait 'til later"

"Sure... fine", he replied, glancing over in his boss's direction.

He watched Gibbs walk off towards the central staircase which led up towards MTAC and the Director's office. And although he had his back to the staircase and couldn't see Gibbs striding up the steps two at a time, he heard the heavy tread of his gait and he could feel a pair of blue eyes watching him from the mezzanine. He waited for the sound of the Director's outer office door being opened.

"You go play with the Director", he muttered under his breath.

He really didn't want to show Gibbs the list he'd made now anyway. He knew he ought to do it, but 'ought to do' and 'actually doing' were not the same thing. He didn't want to think about it. He needed a distraction and it wasn't long before he turned his attention to McGee's parcel.

_Just a quick look_ he thought. It was huge. He tried to lift it but it was he-av-y. How the hell had Geoff lifted it? The guy was only 1.65 meters and not in particularly good shape.

"Toning up Tony?"

Tony jumped slightly at the sound of the Mossad Officer's clipped voice.

"... you could use it", Ziva continued.

"I'll have you know, Zee-Vah, I carried McGeek's package, all the way up from the ground floor to right here on his desk... wait that didn't come out right"

"McGee does have a big package", Ziva snorted.

Tony smiled at her. Ziva looked radiant today. Her brown striped top matched her long brown hair which she'd tied back in a ponytail. It was simple, practical and she was beautiful.

"What is it?" she asked nodding quizzically at the package on McGee's desk.

"I don't know... you wanna guess?"

Ziva made a puzzled face. "Why would I want to guess when I have my knife, Tony?"

He looked at her incredulously, "Because it's fun?"

Stepping back, Tony couldn't help the reflex swallow as Ziva advanced, looking him up and down and replying in a low sultry voice, "I will stick with the knife, Tony"

"O--kay", he responded, "but let me guess first".

Ziva turned away. "If you must..." she shot over her shoulder, "what is it then?"

"Oh c'mon Ziva, it's McGee... it's obvious isn't it...?" he grinned and shrugged his shoulders, "redirected hate mail for Thom E. Gemcity".

Getting no rise from Ziva, he tried a couple more guesses... cookies, winter clothes and finally mittens, before Ziva painfully brought to his attention that the box was too heavy for it to contain mittens.

Feeling slightly put out, he said he didn't want to play anymore... although he did. He said he didn't care... although he did. His distraction was over... although he didn't want it to be, but he really did need to print that list out for Gibbs and get it over with... clear the air. He was almost at his desk when Ziva had whipped out her knife and had said she was going to open McGee's package.

"Thank God", he cried. His curiosity was killing him and he was relieved in more ways than one at Ziva's impulsiveness.

Ziva was about to slice open the box when McGee rounded the corner of the squad room and spied the package on his desk.

_Busted_

But McGee didn't seem to notice their blatant disregard for his privacy and with a wondrous look of elation and youthful enthusiasm he ran eagerly over to the package on his desk. He was hardly able to contain his excitement, "Oh Goody, they're here".

"Goody... who says Goody?" He hadn't meant to say that out loud but McGee wasn't listening. He was too engrossed in rummaging around in his package to notice.

"What is it?" Ziva asked.

Tony groaned to himself as McGee hauled an off-white rectangular box, obviously a Geek machine of some description, from deep within the package. _She had to ask._

"This is my Mac SE. Got it for my eleventh birthday", McGee smiled. "She is my first".

"This is gonna get really strange isn't it?" he muttered to Ziva.

"Going to", she whispered back.

McGee wasn't interested, totally captivated by the childhood memories the outdated computers were bringing forth.

"These are chapters of my life... from the earliest discovery, to that palpable connection and the eventual evolution". McGee brought out a small dark grey box that looked rather like a large laptop. He held it up for them to see. "Look at this. Here I am making the transition to PC".

Tony'd had enough. "I'll alert the Smithsonian, maybe they can make a space for your exhibit..." he said beginning to head back towards his desk fully intent on finally completing what he 'ought to do'. He knew Gibbs would be back any minute and he needed to do this. "The chronicles of a teenage shut in", he hinted wryly to Ziva.

"How do you remember your childhood?" McGee asked.

He forced himself not to react. The memories invoked earlier that morning were still raw. "Vaguely", he lied.

"You have no sense of history" McGee said in exasperation.

Oh he had a history alright. Just one he didn't care to share with Tim, not right now anyway. Maybe in the future... someday.

He thought about responding but then caught sight of Gibbs walking with purpose towards the squad room. Something was up. Tony headed immediately for his desk draw to grab his Sig. There was no way in hell Gibbs would be interested in his list right now. And there was no way in hell he was going to give it to him. He breathed a sigh of relief and, holstering his Sig, hoped for a good day.

The End.

* * *

A/N – The dialogue from "Thank God" is all taken from the squad room scene after the opening credits of the Season 6 episode 'Broken Bird' (Bellisario/CBS/Paramount). I've just added a few of Tony's thoughts into the mix.

I know I've probably disappointed quite a few people by not making Gibbs and Tony have this out, but personally, I don't think they're ready to yet.

I will, at a later date, come back to the piece of paper that is hidden under Tony's sofa. When that will be depends really on what happens later on in Season 6... so for the moment I'm not going to reveal what Tony wrote on that piece of paper.

And I'm sorry for the delay to 'Weekend Duty' (Sequel to The Onion and Word Salad). It's progressing but it's turning into something rather longer and more complicated than I first planned so it's taking a while to write.

And finally...

_SA3' swallowed hard. "Boss?"_

_The ever hopeful expression drained from SA3's face as the boss shot him a stern look of warning and waited until McColleague was out of earshot. _

"_I don't mind the banter SA3'... it's good that you keep McColl on his toes, but there is a time and a place", he said, lowering his voice as Director Rants approached._

"_Problem?" Director Rants asked the boss but looked directly at SA3'._

"_SA3' and I are just discussing a case" the boss replied in a matter of fact tone._

_Director Rants looked at the two agents in turn, clearly not believing a word. "I want the Q2 report by the end of the day"_

_The boss nodded. "End of the day", he acknowledged._

"_SA3466996", Director Rants said coldly._

"_Sir"_

_The two men watched the Director slowly head off in the direction of his office. SA3' paled as the boss started to angle his head and stretch his neck in the way that usually signified he was about to erupt and let fly with everything he had._

"_I understand boss," SA3' said with remorse, "won't happen again"._

"_I know", the boss replied giving a small sigh. "I hear you're working tomorrow. You took the Saturday on call duty from McColl?"_

"_Yes"_

"_How would you like to do tonight as well?"_

"_Not really... I've got plans for tonight"_

"_You 'had' plans for tonight SA3466996"_

"_Oh come on boss, that's not f...." _

'_WHACK'_

"_...air"_

"_Neither is having to finish the Q2 reports by the end of the day SA3'. You can do all the jobs I had intended to get done today but won't have the time to do now that Rants has brought the Q2 deadline forward... and then..."_

_SA3' sighed._

"_... and then, SA3', you will spend the remaining time getting on with all the work 'you' were supposed to have done today but couldn't because you were busy doing mine. Is that clear SA3466996?"_

"_Crystal"_

"_Good... and remember SA3', there's a time and a place... time... and a place... now work, go"_

"_Thank you boss", SA3' replied and sloped off in the direction of his desk._

_The End._


End file.
